Something from the Opera
by jennyfair
Summary: Christine and Erik resume their lessons through the mirror between Hannibal and Il Muto. A three-shot fill-in for the ALW musical. EC but RC friendly.
1. I Là ci darem la mano

_A/N: This is something of a sequel to_ Apparition, _or an ALW spin on_ Un Certo balsamo. _Mozart's Don Giovanni is a baritone, so this is a sneaky tribute to my love of baritone Phantom actors. Search Google for NqPcb1nKZYg or iJnJjpMdT3Y to see the duet from this section on Youtube. Credit as always goes to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Special thanks to sparklyscorpion for being my long-time beta and source of encouragement!_

* * *

Christine hid her frustration as best she could until she reached the privacy of her dressing-room. _Serafimo?_ She slammed the door and locked it. _The Confidante would be better than a silent trouser role!_ Once Messrs. Firmin and André had announced _Il Muto_ as the next production, she knew that Carlotta would be cast as the Countess. There was no question, not after the fuss the diva had made when she had returned to _Hannibal_ following Christine's brief triumph.

Meg had sensed her disappointment and tried to cheer her with the reminder that Serafimo spent nearly the same amount on stage as the Countess, but her friend's reassurances had not shielded Christine from Carlotta's whispers and smug glances. She dropped the libretto onto the dressing table and sank onto the stool with a frustrated sigh, no longer needing to keep her emotions in check.

 _Why do I even need a copy of the score?_ she fumed silently. _How much direction do I need to keep my mouth shut for four acts?_

"Christine…"

Her tutor's voice interrupted her thoughts and she jumped slightly, embarrassed that he had seen her small tantrum. "I did not expect you to come for our lesson, _maestro_." She had not called him Angel since _that night_ , and was still learning to reconcile the thought of her once-Angel and the Opera Ghost being one and the same. They had begun to mend the tenuous bond between them in the weeks following what had occurred below the Opera, with the understanding that he was only to come to the mirror for their lessons. "Surely you heard the announcement?"

"I did, but it is of no consequence. You _will_ sing as the Countess and must be prepared." She absentmindedly flipped through the pages of the score, suppressing a groan at the thought of playing Carlotta's pantomime lover. "As the understudy, at best," she countered, "but I am certain that Carlotta will _not_ miss a performance this time."

"Do you doubt me?" he asked. She felt a chill, not wanting to know what the "Phantom" would do to persuade the managers into changing their minds. "No, I...I believe you," she was quick to reassure him. "But I'd rather not start on _Il Muto_ just yet. Tomorrow?"she offered, hoping that he would be satisfied and allow her to wallow in her bad mood for the day, but he would not excuse her from their lesson so easily.

"Something else, then? I cannot keep you from sulking, Christine, but I will not allow your voice to suffer for it." Before she could protest again, he began to sing, and the sound was still as intoxicating as ever. _At least this has not changed,_ she thought.

 _Là ci darem la mano, là mi dirai di sì._ _Vedi, non è lontano. Partiam, ben mio, da qui._

She recognized Don Giovanni and Zerlina's duet, the rake attempting to lure Masetto's would-be bride to his nearby villa under the guise of wanting to marry her himself. She continued with the next line as a reflex more than a conscious decision, knowing the piece well from her time at the Conservatory.

 _Vorrei e non vorrei, mi trema un poco il cor. Felice, è ver, sarei, ma può burlarmi ancor._

The peasant girl was tempted but resisted the _cavaliere_ 's efforts, rightfully concerned that it might be a trick. Christine resisted in her own way by staying seated at the vanity and not turning to face her teacher in the mirror. She expected him to stop and chide her for not standing to support her voice properly, but he continued.

 _Vieni, mio bel diletto!_

 _-Mi fa pietà Masetto…_

 _Io cangierò tua sorte._

 _-Presto, non son più forte._

Zerlina's resolve withered as Don Giovanni flattered her and promised to change her fate. Their voices laced together, repeating the refrain. She felt the façade of Zerlina falling away, leaving only Christine.

 _Vieni, vieni! Là ci darem la mano…_

 _-Vorrei e non vorrei…_

She began to realize that he did not choose this song by chance, that it concealed a true invitation to come away. _Non è lontano_...no, not far at all. He wanted her to return and sing for him, _below_.

 _... mi trema un poco il cor!_

Her own heart began to tremble at the thought. As Zerlina pitied her Masetto, Christine thought of Raoul and how she still had not confessed to him exactly what had happened that fateful evening. How could she keep the truth from him a second time?

 _Presto, non son più forte..._

And yet, she felt her own hesitation slipping away. _If he wants me to sing as the Countess_ , she reasoned, _surely that means he will not keep me down th_ _ere forever?_

 _Andiam!_ he beckoned. And again, gentle but insisting, _Andiam!_

He would return her as he had done before; she was sure of it. And where was the harm? It would certainly remove any risk of being overheard by prying ears. _Just a lesson,_ she told herself, _then back to the world above in time for supper with Raoul_. Her pulse raced as she rose and stepped towards the glass, answering his invitation with an echoing, _Andiam_!

The mirror slid open and her breath caught in her throat, their duet silenced before the final lines.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither daring quite yet to close the small distance that remained. They had not touched or even stood face to face without a barrier of glass since the morning after the gala. She was the first to move, extending a hand and hoping he did not notice the slight tremor as his fingers closed around hers. He guided her across the threshold, the mirror clattering shut behind her.


	2. II Dalla sua pace

_A/N: There is a very small reference to Jane Eyre in this section. It also explains how Christine knows the Phantom's name in some of my other ALW stories._

* * *

The passageway was cold and dim, lit only by a lantern hanging from a hook in the wall. It was a stark contrast to the warm glow of the gas lamps still visible through the back of the mirror. Her dressing-room seemed like another world from this view. Christine's eyes flickered between the mirror and her companion, brows furrowing as she realized that he could always see through this side of the glass. She shivered as she thought back to the countless hours spent in that room with her Angel of Music, unaware that a man of flesh and blood had been so near, watching her.

Sensing her unease, he released her hand instantly. "Only with your permission, Christine," he reassured her. "For our lessons." She nodded, wanting to believe him, to rebuild some of the trust that had once existed between them. He retrieved the lantern and turned to leave, but paused to offer his arm. She could see the tension in his thin frame as he awaited her response, and felt him relax almost imperceptibly at her touch. He glanced down at her hand in the crook of his elbow before ushering her forward into the maze of tunnels leading to his home.

Christine saw everything clearly now that the truth about her Angel had been revealed. The spell of his voice during that first journey had blinded her to the cobwebs littering the stone walls, the faint skittering of rats in hidden corners beyond the lantern's reach. The caverns grew brighter as they approached the lake, candles shining in the distance through the mist as they reached the water's edge. She was grateful that not all of her memories from that evening were false.

He fixed the lantern to the boat and stepped in first, hesitating before reaching for her again. She picked up her skirts to keep them from trailing in the water, bracing her other hand on his shoulder. His arm closed around her waist to assist her, and they stood like that for a time even after she was safely in the boat. She kept her eyes fixed on his shirtfront, hoping he could not see the flush creeping into her cheeks. They had been closer than this before, she knew. But then, they had still had been Angel and ingénue. Now…

Before she could consider the matter too closely, he shifted, guiding her to sit at the bow. She murmured her thanks, settling in against the cushions. While he was distracted by the task of poling the boat, Christine took the opportunity to observe her teacher. He was in evening clothes, as always, but without hat or cloak. His slicked-back hair seemed unnaturally pristine. Remembering how the twisted angles of his face had disappeared into his hairline, she realized that it must be a wig. As she imagined how far his disfigurement truly extended, he caught her eyes unexpectedly. Her cheeks burned again.

"You examine me," he remarked dryly, although he did not seem bothered by her candid gaze. "Forgive me, I was only wondering something," she admitted, lashes dropping in embarrassment. "And what is that?"

Sidestepping his question, she answered with one of her own. One that had been on her mind since she had first learned that her Angel was instead a mortal man. "What should I call you?" His hands stilled on the pole for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "I am still your Angel, Christine." His tone was firm and she knew that he meant to end the conversation, but she persisted. Summoning her courage, she sat forward and met his eyes again. "Even the angels in Heaven have names. Please, tell me yours."

She struggled to read the expression on his unmasked cheek, fearing that he would continue to refuse. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed, "Erik."

"Erik," she echoed. "Thank you." He gave a slight nod in acknowledgement and she relaxed, turning to look out over the lake. They continued on in silence but it felt oppressive to her, and his true name was a novelty that she could not resist using again. "Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?" When she looked back up at him, the tenderness in his gaze surprised her. She felt suddenly shy about making another request of him. "Would you...sing for me?"

He seemed pleased, the visible corner of his mouth creeping up a fraction. "Anything you wish." Relieved, she returned his smile with one of her own.

 _Dalla sua pace la mia dipende; quel che a lei piace vita mi rende, quel che le incresce morte mi dà._

He began to sing another piece from Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ and she allowed her head to fall back against the pillows, eyes drifting closed as she remembered why he had once been the Angel of Music.


	3. III Coda

_A/N: A short "bonus" chapter, with POV shift. I really did intend to write their full lesson together, but the writing bug crawled off!_

* * *

"Anything you wish."

After she had spoken his name, Erik forgot why he had ever hesitated to reveal it to her. He longed to hear it again and she, generous creature that she was, obliged without his needing to ask. How could he refuse anything she requested of him?

And so he told her as much, though she could not understand the full extent of that simple phrase. That he would gladly die for her...kill for her... But she knew nothing of his past, of what he had done and been before coming to live below the Opera. Instead, he once more used Mozart to conceal the depth of his feelings. He did not dare sing his own _Don Juan_ to her, not yet...

 _S'ella sospira, sospiro anch'io; è mia quell'ira, quel pianto è mio; e non ho bene, s'ella non l'ha._

He sang as Don Ottavio, pledging his devotion to his betrothed, Donna Anna. Taking on her joy, her tears, her anger as his own. As Christine's eyes closed, he took the opportunity to study her, in turn. Even in the blue light of the underground lake, his Angel was beautiful. But despite how vulnerable and small she looked curled at his feet, he knew the courage it must have taken for her to return here, to the monster's lair deep below the earth.

He envied the cushion supporting her head, remembering the feel of her curls brushing against his skin as he had cradled her slight weight in his arms. He wondered if the memory of that embrace repulsed her now that she knew what lay behind the mask…But she had returned to him, had not shied from his cold hands, and it was more than he deserved.


End file.
